


Heart and Seoul

by Gemmiel



Series: Holding On [11]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Frottage, Holding On, M/M, PWP, R&R, Slash, bj/hawkeye, hawkeye/bj - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4100506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmiel/pseuds/Gemmiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To improve the strained relationship between his surgeons, Colonel Potter insists that Hawkeye and BJ take R&R together in Seoul. This is part of my "Holding On" series, and will likely have three chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Seoul is far from heaven on Earth.

Hawkeye's here to rest and recreate, so he tries not to look around too much-- tries not to see the wrecked ruins of buildings that tell a grim story of soldiers fighting in the streets not too many months before, or the refugees who've flooded in from the bombed countryside, ragged and dirty and hungry. He especially avoids looking at the business girls, too many of whom appear to be little more than children. Over the past year he's grown somewhat inured to the horrors of war, and the stark necessities that drive families to selling their children in various ways in order to allow the rest of the family to eat, but BJ is still new to all this. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the younger man's distressed expression, and he can barely stop himself from reaching over and taking BJ's hand. But he's maneuvering the Jeep through crowded, narrow streets, so he refrains.

Seoul is only about twenty miles south of Uijeongbu, but the ride here took quite a while, punctuated by numerous checkpoints and miles of creeping slowly along behind a convoy, not to mention the customary flat tire. But at least they weren't shot at or shelled or taken prisoner, so Hawkeye's inclined to count the trip as a win. BJ, on the other hand, is looking increasingly dismayed as he stares around at the buildings-- five-hundred-year-old temples and palaces rubbing shoulders with brand-new plywood construction and bombed-out structures. So much history and culture, torn apart by the inexorable engines of war. The blankly horrified look in his eyes tears at Hawkeye's insides.

"Hey," Hawkeye says at last. "We're here to have fun, you know."

"How are we supposed to have fun here?" BJ looks back at him, and Hawkeye sees a growing spark of anger in his eyes. It doesn't surprise him. BJ came to Korea an innocent, naive and gentle and optimistic, but here everyone with a heart gets angry sooner or later. He waves a hand at the civilians crowding the streets, and his voice rises indignantly. "Look at these people, Hawk. _Look_ at them! I mean, we've seen orphans and wounded civilians at the 4077th, but--" He draws in a breath that sounds almost like a growl. "There are so damn _many_ of them."

"Yeah. I know. Not a thing we can do about it, though."

"I just keep seeing Mill Valley like this..." BJ blows out his breath in a shuddering sigh. "I imagine Peggy and Erin, homeless... hungry..."

Unbidden, the thought comes to Hawkeye of the peaceful house where he grew up, bombed until it's in ruins, the tall pine trees around it splintered and burned to ash. And his father standing on a street corner in a strange city, a tattered and starving amputee, hands out in supplication as he begs for money from passers-by...

He blinks, and it isn't his father on the sidewalk, but a graying Korean man clad in rags, the stump of what's left of his leg wrapped in dirty bandages. Hawkeye swears under his breath, and turns down another narrow street.

"I don't think you're grasping the concept here," he says, trying to keep his voice light. "Hotel. Actual walls. Real mattresses. Indoor plumbing. And best of all, no rats. Can't we just enjoy ourselves for once? We've been working so hard, Beej. We deserve a break, don't we?"

"I guess. But it's like..." BJ sighs again. "It's like wherever we go, the war follows us. Like we can't get away from it, no matter what. You know what I mean, Hawk?"

"Yeah," Hawkeye says softly. "I know exactly what you mean."

BJ is silent for a long moment. At last he speaks again, and this time his voice is so soft that Hawkeye can hardly hear him.

"I'm afraid, Hawk. I'm afraid that no matter where we go, no matter what we do... it'll follow us for the rest of our lives."

*****

In America, Hawkeye would have only stayed in the small, dingy hotel room as a desperate last resort. But here, he's delighted by it. The simple fact of genuine walls around him, rather than mosquito netting and olive-drab canvas, lifts his spirits. He flings himself down on one of the mattresses and revels in the sensation of an actual full-sized bed supporting him.

BJ, who has more recently lived in a real house, is more fastidious. He looks suspiciously at the mattress as if worrying about lice and bedbugs, not to mention the probable activities of former occupants of the room and the stains they may have left behind.

"C'mon," Hawkeye says. "It's a hell of a lot better than the Swamp. Cleaner, too. Anyway, you can't stand up all night. You're not a horse."

BJ sits gingerly on the edge of his mattress, his back turned to Hawkeye. The beds, Hawkeye can't help but notice are exactly four feet apart, just like their cots in the Swamp. Sometimes that four feet feels like an enormous chasm that can't be bridged, and other times it feels impossibly small, almost irrelevant. He isn't sure what it's going to feel like here, or exactly what BJ wants from him.

The thing is, this three-day pass wasn't their idea. It was Colonel Potter's.

Potter had called them into his office. "The two of you," he'd said, "have been working harder than cow ponies at a rodeo, and I know how you boys react to overwork. Won't be long before you start bucking and rearing and fighting the bit again. It's time you both got turned out into the pasture to graze for a few days, before you try to kill each other over the mashed potatoes again."

Hawkeye and BJ had exchanged guilty looks. A few days ago, they'd gotten into a fist fight in the mess tent. It hadn't really been over mashed potatoes, of course, but they couldn't very well explain to Potter what was really going on between them. They'd talked a little, and gotten things back on a more even keel, but before they could make any kind of decision as to where they wanted to go from there, choppers had arrived, bearing wounded. Since then the two of them had been working steadily, with damn few breaks, for most of a week.

"We were just headed back to the Swamp, sir," BJ said. 

"Not the pasture I had in mind." Potter grinned. "The word I'm hearing is that we won't be getting any more casualties for a while. So first thing tomorrow morning, you're both heading for Seoul, and I don't want to see either of you for three days."

Neither of them had put up a fuss. The plain truth of the matter is that yeah, they're overworked and they need a break. Hawkeye can't deny that. He can't even deny that he want a little alone time with BJ. No, a _lot_ of alone time with BJ. He wants that very, very badly.

But what he doesn't want is for BJ to feel pushed into anything. Having Potter order them to take a vacation together was-- well, it makes things awkward as hell. He honestly doesn't know if BJ's here because he wants to be, or because he has to be. And that makes Hawk very, very uncomfortable.

So he lies still on his mattress and carefully stares at the ceiling, feeling the four-foot gap between them as if it's a tangible thing.

"Hawkeye." Bj gets up and walks around his bed, so he can look straight at Hawkeye. He sits back down on the mattress, barely four feet away. Hawkeye can feel the weight of his stare without even looking in his direction. "We need to talk."

Hawkeye's heard those words from half a dozen nurses, and not once have they ever meant anything positive. He heaves a sigh, sits up, and turns so that he's facing BJ. "Okay, Beej. What's up?"

"This," BJ answers, and before Hawkeye can react, BJ is moving toward him, tumbling him over backward onto the mattress. BJ's not inconsiderable weight is on top of him, and then BJ is kissing him senseless.

Okay, Hawkeye thinks dizzily. BJ's here because he wants to be. That's good. That's very good.

As three-day passes go, this one is looking extremely promising.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write, and I'm not sure why. It's just smut. But sometimes it's hard to figure out exactly where your characters are at, emotionally, and this was one of those times. It took me a while to get this right!

Kissing Hawkeye is impossibly good.

It's not the first time they've kissed, of course. Far from it. The two of them have been sharing stolen kisses for weeks now. Even this past week, when they've been inundated with wounded, there were quick busses in passing, when no one else happened to be around. And once Hawkeye had grabbed BJ in the empty scrub room and shoved him up against the plywood wall, and the two of them had kissed passionately, almost violently. It had felt like a too-brief moment of heaven, despite their bloodied surgical gowns, their exhaustion, and the fact that they were both badly in need of a shower.

But this is more than just a kiss. Hawkeye's long body-- too thin, but warm and solid and real-- is sprawled beneath BJ's on the mattress. BJ is a good deal heavier, and only realizes he's probably squashing the other man when Hawkeye shifts uncomfortably beneath him. They roll over slightly, so that they're lying side by side, and Hawkeye's thigh slides right between his, right against...

BJ groans into Hawk's mouth, and his hips jerk forward of their own accord. He's already hard, so hard, and his instincts clamor for pressure and friction to relieve the ache. But Hawkeye's hands are on his hips, slowing him down.

"Take it easy, Beej. It's a three-day pass, not a three-minute pass."

His voice is gently amused, not mocking, but even so, BJ feels his cheeks flush. Despite all the clandestine moments they've shared, he's still awkward and shy about kissing another man, and doesn't know exactly what he's doing here, or precisely what two guys get up to together when they're alone. He remembers what Hawkeye did to him once, of course, all hot mouth and eager suction and velvet tongue, but he's not quite sure he has the nerve to do that to Hawkeye in return. In fact, he's almost certain he doesn't have the nerve. 

"I just-- I just--" His voice is shaking, and he can't seem to form a coherent sentence. He _wants,_ but he doesn't know how to translate the deep, compelling need into English. He thinks Hawkeye understands, anyway. Hawk's hand lifts and strokes through his hair, soft and reassuring. 

"I'm gonna take care of you, Beej. Don't worry."

Hawkeye's "taken care" of him twice, and part of BJ quivers with anticipation at the thought, but part of him wants this to be more... mutual. As much as he's enjoyed everything Hawk has done to him, he wants to share the pleasure, to feel Hawkeye trembling, to hear him moaning.

He wants to touch Hawkeye everywhere.

The crystalline clarity of that thought helps cut through some of his confusion. He remembers the two of them stripping off each other's shirts in a rainstorm, hands moving all over bare chests, their lips following. He realizes he'd like to do that again. Only this time, he wants to go further. He wants to kiss Hawkeye all over-- his chest, and his flat stomach, and his...

He tries to rein in his racing imagination, and reaches for the hem of Hawkeye's shirt. 

As usual, Hawkeye seems happy to cooperate. Fortunately they aren't wearing their Class A's, just fatigues, and their shirts and undershirts are easily shrugged off. In a moment they're stripped to the waist, bare skin pressed together, and BJ groans into Hawk's shoulder. The last time this happened, rain was pouring down around them, and they were covered in mud and water. This time they're warm and dry and in a real bed, and it feels like perfection.

Hawkeye is hot against him, his skin heating beneath BJ's hands as if he's running a fever. Their arms wrap around each other, holding each other tightly, and for a moment there are no hungry kisses, no roaming hands, just two guys hanging onto each other like they might never let go again.

Foggily, BJ is still aware of what's just outside their hotel room-- a city full of refugees, amputees, hungry children. The proudest city of a country torn in two by war, teeming with the starving and the dispossessed and the wounded. The war doesn't fade into nonexistence just because the two of them are finally alone. Intellectually, he knows that.

But just for this moment, he lets himself forget everything beyond the walls of this room. In this moment, in Hawkeye's arms, he feels like he might have found heaven.

"Last chance, Beej," Hawkeye says into his hair. His voice is soft, muffled, but there's no mistaking the serious note in it. "If this isn't what you want..."

"This is what I want," BJ answers, and means it. 

He knows he ought to feel terribly guilty. This, he thinks, can't be excused away as heat-of-the-moment or scared-and-lonely or oh-God-we-might-die-any-minute or any of the other two dozen excuses he's been making for his behavior over the past weeks. This is cheating, pure and simple.

BJ has been dealing with his attraction to Hawkeye mostly by pretending it's out of his hands somehow. Kissing Hawkeye is something that just happens, not something he ever set out to do. Hawkeye is sort of like a human typhoon, after all-- inexorable, forceful, impossible to resist. For weeks now, BJ has been assuring himself that he never meant for this to happen. It somehow just did.

But from the moment he got into that Jeep with Hawkeye this morning, he knew perfectly well that he was planning on cheating on Peg. Deliberately. With malice aforethought, as it were. And the closer they got to Seoul-- with Hawkeye speeding like a maniac when he got out from behind the convoy, and singing off-key but happy songs at the top of his lungs-- the more he realized that this is what he wants.

This is everything he wants.

And it isn't that he doesn't love Peg, or value the life they've built together. It's simply that there's a part of himself that he never explored, never even let himself admit to. It's not just about Hawkeye, he realizes slowly. It's more about a part of himself that he always hid away in the shadows, because it scared him too much to look at it. Hawkeye just yanked that part of him out into the light so he couldn't pretend it wasn't there any longer, so he _had_ to look at it.

Of course, he could still tell himself that this isn't his fault. He could try to place blame on Colonel Potter for sending the two of them off together. He could blame fate, or stress, or fear and loneliness and the terrible distance from everything he's ever known or loved. But he knows it's his own choice, in the end. He _wants_ to be here, in a man's arms. In Hawkeye's arms.

His thoughts melt away as Hawkeye begins stroking a hand up and down his spine. Hawkeye has the strong, sensitive hands of a surgeon, and the things he can do with a simple touch... BJ breathes out a shuddering sigh, and any lingering doubts about what he's choosing to do here blows away like dust. 

Hawkeye's hand drifts up and down, a slow, leisurely caress, meant to relax rather than arouse. BJ lets himself fall into it, lets Hawkeye touch him gently, tenderly. He turns his head, very slightly, and brushes a kiss over Hawkeye's throat. And to his delight he feels Hawkeye shudder.

He tries it again, kissing Hawk just below the jawline, and this time the other man makes a little _mmmppph_ sound. Hawkeye's hand is trailing up and down his spine, a little faster, the fingers pressing a little more firmly into his flesh, and BJ discovers all over again how much he likes being touched. Peggy never touched him much, as if physical contact was a little embarrassing, a little improper. And she never, ever moaned.

Hawkeye moans. A lot. The more BJ kisses him, the more sounds he makes. BJ isn't at all surprised. Since the day they met, he's been aware that Hawkeye Pierce is noisier than anyone he's ever known. He howls with mirth, yells with rage, and sings at the top of his lungs in the shower. It figures that he'd be very far from quiet in bed.

By the time BJ's worked his way down to Hawkeye's clavicle, the other man is muttering _yeah right there_ and _oh God Beej_ and _oh that's good, that's perfect,_ words of encouragement interspersed with heartfelt moans. BJ smiles against his throat, because it seems likely that making out with Hawkeye is going to be a nonstop stream of words and noises. Typical Hawkeye, in other words.

But Hawkeye isn't so involved in vocalizing that he forgets to touch BJ. His hands are busy exploring BJ's back, brushing over his shoulders, sliding down to the small of his back, and then, in a heartstopping instant, dipping gently into the waistband of his pants and slipping very softly over the curves of his ass.

BJ jolts. "Hawk!"

Hawkeye pulls his hands back instantly. "Sorry. Hands above the waist?"

He's relieved that Hawk's tone is gentle and understanding, that he isn't being mocked or taunted for his shocked reaction. Hawkeye's hands have delved below that particular boundary twice before, of course, but BJ can't help still being shy about it. He's grateful that his more experienced friend isn't making fun of him. But he tries his best to push away the hesitancy that keeps hitting him at such inopportune times.

"Uh," he says, trying to be bold and not succeeding too well. "Maybe if we-- if we--"

His tongue stalls out on _take our pants off,_ but Hawkeye seems to understand him without words. It's an unnerving habit Hawkeye has, of understanding him better than anyone else ever has. Hawkeye apparently likes the idea, because he carefully unfastens BJ's belt buckle, then unzips his pants. BJ sighs in relief, because his trousers were definitely feeling too tight.

"Better kick your boots off," Hawkeye says in his ear, "or these'll get stuck somewhere around your ankles."

BJ nods jerkily, and pulls away to sit up and begin the somewhat awkward process of struggling out of his boots and his pants. After a moment of consideration, he keeps his boxers on, because he can't quite imagine being totally naked with Hawk. When he finishes, and looks back at Hawkeye, he sees that the other man has made the same decision, and is bare but for his boxers. BJ doesn't believe for a minute that Hawkeye has the slightest issue with nudity-- this is, after all, the man who famously walked naked through the entire compound, and straight into the mess tent-- so he's probably trying to make BJ comfortable by not going too far, too fast. BJ appreciates that, because he's already so nervous his hands are shaking.

Hawkeye sees it, and puts a hand out, cupping his cheek. "Hey," he says softly. "It's okay. We're not gonna do anything you don't want to do, Beej. I promise."

"I want to do it," BJ says, swallowing. "I just-- it's just--"

Hawkeye doesn't say anything else, just stretches back out on the mattress and pulls BJ down on top of him, so that BJ is resting snugly between his thighs. And suddenly every concern in BJ's head melts away, because Hawkeye's skin is hot all over and their bodies fit together so perfectly and the only thing between them is two scraps of Army-issue fabric. All at once BJ is so hard he hurts. His hips jerk again, driving his erection against Hawkeye's, and he whimpers.

"Oh, God," Hawkeye says, his voice hoarse. "Jesus, Beej."

BJ does it again, and it feels so good despite the fabric in the way. He buries his face in Hawkeye's shoulder, practically sobbing with the pleasure of it, and his hips start moving of their own accord. He remembers Hawk's sardonic words-- _it's a three-day pass, not a three-minute pass_ \-- and tries to slow down, but he just _can't._ He's wanted this, needed it, for so long...

Beneath him, Hawkeye is rising to meet him, his hands digging into BJ's shoulders, his skin already sleek with sweat. He smells like the pine soap he uses, clean and fresh, but he smells like sex too, pure and earthy and sensual. Their bodies find the rhythm they need, rutting together desperately, and BJ feels his erection twitching, spasming, hears himself gasping for breath, a name falling from him in a helpless litany. _Hawkeye... Hawkeye... ah, God, **Hawk...**_

He thinks unhappily that it's going too fast. He wanted this to be slow, to touch Hawkeye everywhere, to investigate his body with hands and mouth and tongue. He wanted to kiss Hawkeye endlessly while their bodies moved together. He's dreamed of nothing else for weeks, but now, in the breathless urgency of this moment, all his hands seem able to do is clutch frantically at the sheets, and all his mouth seems good for is to say Hawkeye's name over and over again. He's lost all semblance of control.

And so, apparently, has Hawkeye. Because beneath him, Hawk's back arches and his hips jerk violently, and Hawkeye lets out a long wail like he's dying. His hands grip BJ so hard they'll probably leave bruises, and at the knowledge that Hawkeye is coming, that _he made Hawkeye come,_ BJ can't hold back any more. Not that he's been trying particularly hard, anyway.

He thrusts against Hawk harder than before, mindless, desperate, every muscle straining for release. The tension inside him winds tighter and tighter, until it's unbearably taut. Then suddenly, it snaps, and a surge of bliss rolls over him in a long, fierce wave, so sweet and hot that he can't stop himself from crying out. He's never known pleasure this intense, and for a long moment all he can do is shudder, caught in the throes of blinding ecstasy. At last it ebbs into a sensation of warm contentment, and he collapses heavily onto Hawkeye, gasping for oxygen.

Another long moment passes in profound silence. At last Hawkeye mumbles, somewhat indistinctly, "Cah bree."

"Mmmm?"

"Can't... _breathe._ " Hawkeye punctuates the words with a shove to BJ's shoulders. "Off."

"Oh. Okay." BJ flops over onto his back. His body seems to have lost its skeleton somewhere along the way; he feels like he's made out of Jell-O. He lies there, staring blankly at the ceiling and trying to get his brain to function again. But nothing seems to happen, and he concludes that maybe he lost his brain along the way, too. 

His chest is heaving and his skin is wet with sweat, but eventually his breathing steadies and he starts to come back down from whatever cloud he drifted off to when he climaxed. He rolls his head lazily on the pillow to find Hawkeye looking at him through drowsy blue eyes. He sees Hawkeye's dark hair plastered to his forehead, and an irresistible chuckle rises out of him.

"Whaddya laughin' at?" Hawkeye sounds like he's on his sixth martini, and somehow BJ's not surprised. It figures that he'd get just as wasted by a good orgasm as he does by gin. No wonder Hawkeye likes sex so much. BJ's experiences with sex up till he met Hawk have been pleasant rather than ecstatic, so he never really understood his friend's obsessive interest in the subject. But now, as the song says, he's beginning to see the light.

BJ chuckles again. It sounds more like a giggle, even to his ears, and it occurs to him that he's just as wasted as Hawkeye is, and for exactly the same reason. He couldn't be giddier if he'd drained the still personally.

"You're cute when you're sweaty," he says, still laughing.

Hawkeye looks at him a long moment, and then flashes his wide grin.

"Yeah," he says, and reaches out to take BJ's hand. "You're pretty cute yourself, Beej."

They lie there for long moments, just looking at each other, fingers entwined like they'll never let go. A soft, drugging warmth begins to sink over BJ like a blanket, and judging from the way Hawkeye's eyelids are starting to drift shut, he's feeling just as warm and comfortable. But even as sleep begins to overtake them, they don't let go of each other's hands.

Outside their hotel room, someplace not too far away, bombs are dropping and children are losing their homes and young men are dying bloody deaths in foxholes. Somewhere out there, the war marches on.

But for a brief and lovely moment, the two of them are at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be bluntly honest and admit I know absolutely nothing about Seoul in the fifties. Google did indicate that it was only about a sixth the size of Tokyo, but it was nevertheless a large city. Several battles took place there during the course of the war, so it seems a safe bet that scars of the conflict would still be visible. And it seems inevitable that refugees from the countryside would've streamed to the nearest big city. I meant for this to be mostly a PWP story, but (though this is something the show generally overlooked or glossed over) I find it hard to imagine our intrepid heroes driving through a city full of refugees and poverty-stricken people and not reacting to some degree. 
> 
> Readers may recall that Hawkeye and Radar picked up BJ at Kimpo (now spelled Gimpo), which is on the northwestern outskirts of Seoul. The dialogue indicated that he had just flown in, and the only glimpse of Seoul he seemed to get was the Officer's Club at Kimpo. So I'm operating on the assumption that this is his first real trip to Seoul.
> 
> Uijeongbu is the current preferred spelling for the village in which MASH is set, though the novel M*A*S*H spells it Ouijongbu. The novel describes it as "a squalid shanty town with a muddy main street," and judging by the one picture I found on the internet, it does seem to have been a very tiny village. It is now a large city (population somewhere upward of 400,000) and is some twelve miles north of Seoul. Since Uijeongbu was very small in the 1950s, and it now fills an area of more than thirty miles, I'm guessing the driving distance would have been further in the era in which this story is set.
> 
> I came up with the horrid pun that is the title on my own, but when I Googled I found that it was also the title of a "Trapper John MD" episode. I didn't see it attached to any other fanfiction, but it's a pretty obvious pun, and if anyone else has used it previously as a story title I apologize in advance.


End file.
